


grotesque

by whorehawks



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bondage, Bottom Hannibal Lecter, Dark Will Graham, Gunplay, Hallucinations, M/M, Top Will Graham, theyre in love bro idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 09:00:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26969389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whorehawks/pseuds/whorehawks
Summary: An invitation.The gun skims his bottom lip. It pushes, and knocks against teeth, and Wills face twitches in annoyance. He pushes it against his teeth again, until Hannibal relents and drops his jaw open just that bit more and Will can slide the metal in, smooth along his tongue until the trigger is against his lips and the barrel at his throat. Will hates to admit how much of an erotic sight it is. Hannibals’ blood-glossed lips wrapped around the silver steel. He moves in, bracing his hand against the refrigerator behind them and shoving the gun hard, watching close as Hannibal’s lashes flutter and his throat contracts, a gag sounding from behind it.Will’s smile is smug and grotesque.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 10
Kudos: 82





	grotesque

**Author's Note:**

> <3 gunplay <3

Cold metal feels sharp against tingling arms, restricted with rough rope, too tight to let blood flow properly. Lecter smiles, laughs, daringly enough, warm blood dripping from his chin, letting it coat his lips like the starkest lipstick, swallowing what’s on his tongue and letting the thick iron coat his throat. He looks up at the man above him, haloed by his luminescent kitchen light, face dark and remorseless. Oh, how gorgeous he looked like this, exactly as he was meant to be. Thick, calloused hands red-stained and hanging at his side, one gripping tight to the butt of a gun, index finger twitching over the trigger. How he wants to pull it, Hannibal is sure, and he lets out a shuddering breath as he leans his back against his fridge, looking up at Will fondly. 

Will sneers. He raises the gun, looking down the length of it, aiming straight for Hannibal’s forehead. He’s steadier than he’s ever been, only an excited flare lifting his heart to bring him off balance. Just the thought, the image, playing in his mind, Hannibal’s blood spattered behind him, in front of him, on him, everywhere, his head lowered, blood flowing down to cover his body, a rich coating, appropriate for the subject. 

He lets out a slow, even breath, tongue slipping out, drawing across his lips. He looks Hannibal in the eyes. Sees his own desperation returned, and an adoration he couldn’t imagine holding spat back in his face. An insult. 

Hannibal’s mouth opens, and shuts, and he smiles like he’s hiding something, and then frowns. 

“With your hands, Will..” 

He breathes the words, head falling to the side, like it made him so exhausted just to think about it. 

Will almost laughs.    
  


“No,” he says, with a small shake of his head. 

He takes a few steps forward, hovering above Hannibal. The gun lowers. He stares at him, for a moment. Looking at his bloodied face. The angles of his cheeks, his thin lips. It makes him look so strange, so alien, so beautiful in such an unmistakable way. He shakes his head again. “No.” 

The gun rises. Cold metal presses against Hannibal’s forehead, and he closes his eyes, lips twitching deeper into a frown. That pride he felt before leaks out, though it’s replaced with something else. A longing, maybe. One to feel those hands, those lips, the cruelty of the fact that he only ever got to so many times before all of this. Before this sad, unexpected, though not unprecedented ending. 

“Wil,” he begins. 

“No,” Will interrupts him, shoving the gun harder against his skin. “You don’t have a say in this.” 

He takes a sharp breath. The gun trails down, metal leaving Hannibal shivering as it skims his temple and his cheek, stopping beside his lips. He opens his eyes to look down at it where it rests, shy to approach his mouth, and then up at Will, who’s still staring evenly down at him. 

Hannibal opens his mouth, just a bit. 

An invitation. 

The gun skims his bottom lip. It pushes, and knocks against teeth, and Wills face twitches in annoyance. He pushes it against his teeth again, until Hannibal relents and drops his jaw open just that bit more and Will can slide the metal in, smooth along his tongue until the trigger is against his lips and the barrel at his throat. Will hates to admit how much of an erotic sight it is. Hannibals’ blood-glossed lips wrapped around the silver steel. He moves in, bracing his hand against the refrigerator behind them and shoving the gun hard, watching close as Hannibal’s lashes flutter and his throat contracts, a gag sounding from behind it. 

Will’s smile is smug and grotesque. 

He pulls it out, inch by inch, watching spit drip and pull away from the smooth metal, until it hangs on his bottom lip again. 

Hannibal looks at him. His eyes are half lidded and hazy. He’s so very present, though. So trapped in the moment. Will can’t help but savor the slide back home, biting the inside of his lip to stop himself from grinning. 

The toe of his boot lifts, and comes to rest on the crotch of Hannibal’s pants. He pushes, just enough, to watch the man beneath him let out a heavy breath and close his eyes again, and he lets himself grin that much more as he cocks the gun and grinds his shoe into his cock, already twitching to life and hardening under him. Hannibal groans, deep in his throat, eyes closing again and relishing the feelings rushing through him. Sharp arousal, mixed with the tired acceptance of Wills insistence on killing him. He almost looks sad, to Will, like he wished it could have been different. 

With his hands.

Will raises his chin. 

The hand not holding the gun drifts, skimming the pocket of his pants, and coming to rest on the large bulge in them, grabbing and adjusting it slowly. He lets out a slow, relieved breath, rubbing slowly and leisurely, looking down at Hannibal’s gorgeous mouth wrapped around his cocked gun, tilting his head a bit as he begins to rock it in and out of his mouth, fucking it slowly, imagining how it might feel against Hannibal’s tongue, hard and dangerous, even more dangerous than that tongue, than those teeth. 

He smirks. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever found you quite as gorgeous as you are right now,” he says, voice quiet and heavy on Hannibals’ heart. His fingers, just as deft as they are worked-over and calloused, play with the button on his pants, sliding it slowly through its hole until it pops loose, and then pulling slowly at his zipper. He’s teasing, watching close as Hannibal’s eyes latch onto his fingers, waiting hungrily for the zipper to reach the bottom, for him to take his hand away and slip them into his pants and take out his hard cock. He pauses at the bottom, smirking, pushing the gun in that much deeper. 

Hannibal groans, eager and tipping his head up, need shining through his eyes as he stares up at Will. Such a sadist when it comes down to it, begging without saying a word, though Will knows if he took the gun out and told him to, he would in an instant, the whore. 

He hums, staring down at him, letting that need settle in his chest as bright pride, stroking his ego. 

Will could kill Hannibal right here. He could end all of this. He could leave this house, go back to his own in Wolf Trap, satisfied and knowing that it’s all over. That Hannibal Lecter can cause no more pain to himself, to others, to everyone he’s  _ ever _ cared about. He could get revenge for all of the people Hannibal Lecter has killed, mutilated, destroyed the lives of. Families and friends avenged, knowing that their own loved ones can finally rest in peace. What a relief it would be, for Hannibal Lecter to die. The world would lose nothing. Will Graham only had everything to gain.

Will pulls his cock out, rock hard and flushed, pre-cum dripping from the tip. 

He strokes it slowly, staring down hard at Hannibal as he does. He wants it, he  _ needs _ it, practically drools around the gun in his mouth for it. His tongue pushes against it, as if trying to imagine how it’d feel if it were Will’s cock. 

He feels the shift in the gun, smirking more as he guesses what Hannibal’s doing. Demanding as always, expecting everything to be  _ given _ to him on a silver platter. 

(And if he doesn’t get it, God knows he’s willing to take it.)

Wills hand works over his cock faster. He takes every detail into his mind. The dripping of drool from the corner of Hannibal’s mouth, the shift he can feel in the gun as he tries to move his tongue around it, the soft noise that comes from his chest as he watches Will get himself off, skin pulling back with every stroke back, revealing more of his beautiful cock, and pre-cum oozing out with every push forward, collecting on the tip until it’s weight brings it down, dripping onto the floor. He moves forward as much as he can, choking on the gun, wanting to  _ taste _ him again, delectable Will, too precious to get rid of just yet, so many uses when he’s not dead, when he can sit beside him, or stand over him, or lay under him, or hold a cocked gun in his mouth. It shoves forward more, after that choke, makes Hannibal choke again,  _ louder _ , demanding more of him. He gags and Will groans, rocking into his fist. 

He could end this.

Will swears. 

He could. 

His finger twitches. It aqueezes to trigger. Bit by bit. Just a little more pressure. Just a slip. 

He could. 

He shudders, and it pulls, and the shot rings throughout the house, and he moans, and Hannibal’s blood covers him, and he moans, and gore spreads on the refrigerator, and he moans, and his eyes go dead, and his head drops, and the gun drops, and blood spills around them, and it fills the house, and the gunshot rings, and he’s covered in blood, and the walls are covered in blood, and Hannibal’s eyes are dead, and Hannibal is dead and Hannibal is Dead and-

A gunshot sounds, the wall splinters, and Hannibal falls to the side, a bloodied hand coming up to cover his ear, eyes squeezing shut. He’s breathing hard. 

Will’s breathing hard. 

Cum drips from his cock, and he can see it on Hannibal’s shirt. Where he was covered in blood. The gun is smoking. He looks to the side, where a hole was shot, the bullet lodged far into the wall. He looks back at Hannibal. Who is alive. Who has ringing ears, and blinking eyes, trying to shake away the deafness. A beating heart. A functioning brain. 

How lucky. 

Hannibal looks back at him. He looks shaken, and debauched. He’s covered in cum and blood, still shaken from the deafening noise of a gun right beside his ear. He frowns, and so does Will. 

“Will..” he says, voice gentle, but firm, a serious edge to it that he hasn’t had. 

Will shudders, and his lips twitch up into a smile, looking at how scared Hannibal must have been. He really thought he was going to shoot him. He really thought, and now… 

“Yes..?” He asks, voice almost cracking under the strain on his throat. He takes a sharp breath in, shaking hands reaching for his holster and slipping the gun into it and away, gently locking it into place. One of them moves to his chest, holding himself, feeling how hard his heart is beating, euphoria still rushing through his veins. 

And Hannibal’s gaze softens. 

He looks at him like he’s beautiful, again. Like he’s worth all of this adoration. All of this love. He opens his mouth a bit, like he’d like to say something but is lost for words, and sits up slowly. He can see Will breaking. He’s always been able to see it. The moment he met him, he fell in love with the cracks in this boy. The blood he could smell seeping through them, staining his clothes and his heart. Hannibal thought, in those first moments, that he will never find another man like this. Another man so perfect in the world. And he hasn’t. And he won’t. 

“I’ve never wanted to kiss you more than I do in this moment,” he says, accent lilting his soft words. 

The laugh Will attempts comes out as a soft huff, and his eyes drift away.    
  


“Never..?” He asks, a little smile on his face, a slight roll of his eyes at Hannibal's ever present dramatism. 

“No.” 

Will lets that settle. He kneels down, resting on a knee in front of Hannibal, reaching out to take his jaw in his hand and tip it up towards him. For a long moment, he just stares, admiring his harsh angles, the blood, the shadow of stubble on his cheeks to his chin, thin platinum hair laid across his face. And then he kisses him, lips soft and abnormally sweet, taking his own fill of Hannibal before he can pull away.

Hannibal sighs into it, arms twitching in their bindings, wanting to reach out and take him, bring him into another kiss, and another, deeper and more intense, but he settles for what Will gives him. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, and Will smiles. He reaches out, bringing a hand to Hannibals’ leg and brushing over the bulge in his pants, a prideful little smirk on his face. 

“I should probably untie you,” he hums, rolling his palm against his cock and immediately forgetting his intentions as he leans in for another kiss, tilting his head and groaning when he tastes Hannibal’s blood, tongue pushing against his lips and into his mouth, eager for more. The hand that isn’t groping Hannibal moves up, behind his neck, into his hair, and he pulls him deeper into it, sliding their tongues together and squeezing his cock hard, forcing a gasp out of the man below him.    
  


“You want me to take care of this…?” Will groans out, rolling his palm roughly over Hannibal with his words, making him strain his hips and moan. 

“Please,” Hannibal responds, breathless, leaning his head back into the wall as Will insistently palms at him, smirking at how desperate Hannibal is, how quickly he can be worked up. He’s such a bitch, when it comes down to it, begging for more and bucking into his hand, needy for any sort of attention he can get. 

Will obliges. He pulls Hannibal into another kiss, and tugs him down further onto the floor, making him lay beneath him as he roughly tugs his pants off and throws them to the side. He spreads his legs and shoves his tongue back into his mouth, stroking him quickly along before his hand slips further down, pressing against his hole and easily pushing two fingers in, biting at Hannibal’s lips as he does. 

“Whore,” he mumbles against them, moving down to his jaw, leaving a trail of harsh bites along it, down to his neck, where he sucks a deep mark as high as he can. Hannibal groans, opening his legs wider and pleading under his breath, arching for him and trying to adjust his arms, the strain on his shoulders and chest becoming painful. Will only fingers him for a moment before he’s pulling away, spitting into his hand and barely stroking himself for a second, and then sinking into Hannibal’s heat with a loud groan, pressing his face into his shoulder and growling. 

Hannibal shouts, legs hitching up and wrapping around Will, relishing the burn and the stretch, loving it because it’s  _ Will. _ The way he stretches him always feels so good, so perfect, like they belong together, and he can’t help but encourage it, trying to rock into him as he gets closer and closer to bottoming out. 

Will bites him, hard. He sucks another harsh mark into him, and another, and another, pulling out slowly and then shoving back in. His hands grab onto Hannibal’s hips, and he forces him back against him, makes him meet every thrust as he draws out and then fucks in, slow and even, hissing and growling with each one as Hannibal cries out and moans, struggling in his tight bonds.

The more he fights, the more they dig into his skin, bruising and rubbing him raw. He pants, trying to get out, needing to hold Will close, just as close as Will gets to hold him. He doesn’t realize the way he’s panting under his breath, begging to be closer to him. 

Will ignores it. He pulls him closer, hitching his hips higher, just enough for him to start fucking into him fast, and hard, groaning and biting deep enough that he tastes blood, pulling away just to look as droplets bubble on the surface of his skin, and begin to drip with his spit. He leans in, licking it away before it can escape. 

Hannibal loves it. 

He throws his head back, and his legs wrap tight around Will, pulling him in even more, making him fuck him deeper. 

He had never quite pegged himself as a sadist, though he always knew about his masochistic tendencies. Will seemed to bring out something different in him. Something needier. Something no other man could conjure in his heart, the ability to  _ lay down and take it. _

He hates to admit it sometimes, but for as much as he’s changed Will, Will’s changed him doubly. He’s tamed a beast. 

“Will,” Hannibal gasps, jerking hard in his binds. 

“Hannibal,” Will returns in a groan, fucking him harder, biting him again, letting his teeth sink into the wounds already in his shoulder, reveling in the loud, pleasured cry he rips from the man. 

“You like that…?” He asks, despite knowing the answer, reaching a hand between them and grabbing Hannibal’s cock, stroking it along with his quickening thrusts. 

“God,” Hannibal sighs, eyes fluttering as his cock is gripped, bucking into his hands. “Nnh- asking questions with answers you already know is-” the breath is knocked out of him with a particularly harsh thrust, “rude,” he finishes, voice pitched, eyes rolling back. He’s getting close, quickly, he can feel it building in his gut already, balls tightening and muscles shuddering. “Will,”

“Are you gonna cum?” Will asks, nipping at his ear. “Cum for me.” 

Hannibal keens, and arches, and with a sudden jerk he cums over himself, thick white strings covering his chest and stomach, a loud moan coming with them. He pants harshly, hips twitching and bucking, eyes fluttering, barely allowed to come down as Will continues to hammer into him feverishly, biting at his neck and shoulders desperately, looking to join him. 

“Will,” Hannibal gasps, overwhelmed and sensitive, gasps catching in his throat. “Will-” 

Will cums hard a moment later, shoving himself deep into Hannibal and filling him, swearing under his breath as he rocks and pushes his cum deep, as much as he can before he has to pull out, watching as his cum dribbles out after his cock, dripping onto the floor beneath them. 

They’re both left panting, quiet, basking in their well-earned afterglow. 

Hannibal looks up, admiring Wills gorgeous face, eyes closed and breath slowing, ever-tense muscles relaxing with every exhale. He can’t help but murmur out admiration for how beautiful he is like this. How lucky he is to get to witness it, what a pleasure it is. He truly does cherish every moment he gets with him, intimate or not. 

Will opens his eyes at the praise. He brushes his knuckles against his cheek, and smiles, fond and tired. 

“Should really untie you now…” he murmurs, still tracing the lines of his face, looking, again, like he has no intentions of letting him loose. 

“I’d like that very much,” Hannibal replies, eyes flitting between his hand and his face. 

Will only hums, and he pulls back, letting Hannibal sit up once he’s given the space and reaching around him to begin pulling the rope tied tight around Hannibal’s arms, making a face at how harshly they’ve dug into his skin as he struggles to untie the knots. 

“Shouldn’t struggle as much,” he mutters to himself, finally pulling them loose with a tug and a hiss from Hannibal, pursing his lips to hold back a little  _ I told you so _ . 

“You make it hard,” Hannibal responds, finally allowed to pull his arms back around and rubbing the raw marks on them, grimacing slightly. 

“I don’t do anything, you’re just dramatic…” Will huffs, standing up once the rope’s fully discarded, hitching his pants up only to be able to walk and waiting for his partner, who takes his own time standing up and fixing himself, frowning distastefully on the mess left on his shirt, dried and staining after all this time. 

“Your modesty deceives you,” Hannibal notes, brushing at the cum on his shirt, and then beginning to unbutton it as he walks out of the kitchen, towards the master bedroom. “You do a lot. You’re good at it, Will. Making me feel good. It isn’t all just my dramatics getting the best of me.” 

“Alright, alright- don’t… psychoanalyze me after sex,” Will rubs the bridge of his nose.

Hannibals lips quirk into a smile, and he shrugs, pulling his shirt away from his body and folding it neatly in his arm. “It was an observation,” he hums, looking back at Will, waiting for him to follow.


End file.
